


The Takeover

by jillothewisp (abbykate)



Series: Hide and Seek [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sex, Sex is what's happening here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbykate/pseuds/jillothewisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you could hear anything but yourself panting his name you'd marvel at the way he makes yours sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Takeover

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the scheme: Jill decided that she, abbykate, and S.J. Hartsfield should all take lines from Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" and use them as titles for drabbles. They each picked five. They will be posted as a series, in the order in which they fall in the song.

It begins in silence, with eyes. Cold green-grey burning into deep blue.

A question. _When?_

An answer. _Now._

And when the answer is now, it's _now_ , and not a moment later.

Fingers lead the charge, fumble with buttons, zips, jumpers, trousers. Troublesome obstacles. They fall to the floor and there is a pause, a reverent hush, because they have revealed _skin_ , and skin will never not be breathtaking.

But enough.

Looking's no fun when you can touch, and touch and _touch._ Hands advance across a field of white, lips find lips find throat find chest and pull a moan from the core of him that does _such things_ to you. Burst of pins and needles at the sound. Heat across your body.

You'd do it slow and sweet if you could. Someday, someday, but not today, no. Not with all this skin and white and heat and not with him making that noise and not with him writhing underneath you and begging you to take him take him _take-him-apart._

Who on earth are you to refuse?

(If you could hear anything but yourself panting his name you'd marvel at the way he makes yours sound. If you could see through the lust that blurs your vision, you would see him undone and more beautiful than you could ever have imagined him. If you could think beyond driving yourself deeper faster harder into him, you might think for a moment how utterly, utterly lost you are, your everything tied up in him as surely as your limbs are tangled together now. [ _There are no words for this, there is no defense against this, too late, too late, oh God what have you done?_ ] But sensation has overruled hearing, sight, thought – and that's quite enough to be getting on with.)

You feel it, the pull of your body. The clench of his. It takes years; it takes no time at all. Explosion of pure electricity, an instant of perfect euphoria and if you could knit your flesh together with his and stay here, just here, forever, you would. You would. But it can't last and it doesn't, and in the next moment you've collapsed against him, the demon that possessed you escaping with your ragged breath.

It ends much as it began. In silence. With eyes. Green-grey and deep blue staring at nothing in particular and not knowing, because they would never say, that they are wondering the same thing. Just how- they are wondering- is it possible to feel so complete?

Lying here.

In pieces.

 

 

 

 


End file.
